


Insomnia

by alliemack30



Category: Star Trek: Discovery
Genre: Fluffy and Silly, M/M, after trek references so it might be helpful to watch that first, also i quote RENT can you find it?, love and castanets, manic insomnia, mycelium Paul, silly little one shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-02
Updated: 2017-11-02
Packaged: 2019-01-28 14:11:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12608380
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alliemack30/pseuds/alliemack30
Summary: "“You couldn’t sleep…so, you’re playing castanets?”"A silly little one shot inspired partly by the most recent After Trek with Anthony Rapp and Wilson Cruz, when Anthony said Paul Stamets would play the castanets and Wilson's face made me laugh so hard I cried.





	Insomnia

Hugh made his way through the corridors of the _Discovery_ , reveling in the uncharacteristic calm that had settled over the ship. It was past midnight and the normally full and bustling halls were relatively quiet and empty, save for the odd security officer patrolling or ensign on his way to the bridge for the overnight shift.

Between the monthly crew physicals and increasingly frequent skirmishes along the Klingon border, it seemed lately that there wasn’t an hour throughout the day when sickbay wasn’t packed with people vying for his attention, and sometimes even just a few minutes walking the ship’s still corridors seemed akin to a long and lengthy vacation. Thankfully, he wouldn’t be needed again in sickbay for several hours. He had just finished the final hour of a double shift, and had little planned for the evening besides collapsing onto his bed and letting sleep overtake him. Paul would have gotten off his shift a few hours before, and Hugh fully expected his partner to be sleeping soundly as he entered their shared quarters.

Which is why he found it incredibly odd that every light was blazing as he stepped through the automatic doors, and even odder still that a repetitive _click click click_ was emanating from the bed in the far corner of the room.

“Paul…what are you doing?”

His partner was splayed out on the bed, boots and uniform jacket tossed on the armchair beside it. Instead of sleeping, he was holding a set of what appeared to be castanets in his hands and clicking them repeatedly. He paused briefly when he noticed Hugh.

“Learning to play castanets.” Paul clicked the wooden shells again.

Hugh blinked at him.

“Where did you even get castanets?”

“The replicator.”

“May I ask _why_?”

“Of course you can, dear doctor!” He jumped up suddenly from the bed, grinning widely. “You can always ask why---the knowledge is always out there, all you have to do is seek it out! isn’t that _wonderful_?”

“I suppose…..”An uneasy worry began to coil itself through Hugh’s chest. Paul had been…different, since he’d injected himself with the tardigrade DNA, but he seemed more manic than usual, even by mycelium-Paul standards. He resisted the urge to pick up his tricorder and run a scan; even spore addled Paul hated that.

“What made you _seek out_ castanets?”

Paul began tapping out a rhythm on the shells, raising a hand above his head and another in front of his chest in what Hugh supposed was his best flamenco dancer pose. “To create, Hugh. Do you see how important creation is, at times like these?”

“You mean at 0200?”

“No,” Paul said, his voice picking up speed. “War. The mycelium network, it shows all of the connections across the universe, and I’m helping to create them.” At Hugh’s blank look, he sighed deeply. “The opposite of war isn’t peace, its _creation_.”

“I see,” Hugh said warily. Paul was always a little odder after the jumps: more affectionate, more bubbly, more relaxed than Hugh had ever seen him. But it had been nearly a day since the last jump; usually at this point, Paul would return to some semblance of normality (well, what was considered normal for his new DNA, anyway). Instead, the man in front of him couldn’t appear to stand still.

Paul’s fingers stilled briefly on the wooden shells at Hugh’s staring, as if he could hear his thoughts. “Also, I couldn’t sleep.”

Hugh breathed deeply, pinching the bridge of his nose. This was becoming a much longer night than he had anticipated. “You couldn’t sleep….so, you’re playing castanets?” he asked wearily.

“Yes. Wanna dance?” Paul said, wiggling his eyebrows in what Hugh assumed was meant to be a seductive way. “We don’t even need music. All of the rhythm you need is right here.” He clicked them again for emphasis.

“No, I very much don’t.” Hugh could feel the fatigue of his 16-hour shift sinking into his bones, in stark contrast to the manic energy rolling off his partner in waves; his eyes were wide, the pupils large and dark. It worried him.

_I couldn’t sleep._

A thought struck him. He eyed Paul carefully, taking in his mussed hair and rumpled black t-shirt, the shadows under his wide eyes.

“Paul, you haven’t slept in…” he paused, heart sinking in dismay. He hadn’t seen Paul in their bed in at least three days--lately, their shifts hadn’t matched up with all the extra work he’d been putting in with the spore drive. Hugh assumed Paul had been sleeping while he was on duty…but the wide, glazed blue eyes staring back at him seemed to indicate otherwise.

The _click click click_ of the castanets continued. Hugh shot out a hand, closing the other man’s hand into a fist and silencing them.

“Paul. You haven’t slept in three days, have you.”

“Three and half,” the scientist interrupted. His grin had faded a little, enough for Hugh to see the frayed edges behind it. His concern edged up a few more notches.

“That isn’t any better, Paul. You need to sleep, tardigrade DNA or not.”

Paul blinked at him, some of the energy seeming to drain from his wide eyes. “I wasn’t _trying_ not to,” he said, relaxing the hand clenched in Hugh’s. “The network….it’s like being plugged into a live wire. I can see everything, and it is so beautiful, and I’m just…. _.I’m so alive, Hugh_.” His words were tumbling out in a rush. “At first I just wasn’t tired. I was charged, I didn’t need to sleep, and there was so much to _do_...and then…..” he shrugged. “Then….there wasn’t….. and I just _couldn’t_.”

Hugh felt a pang of guilt. He couldn't help their differing schedules, but how had he not noticed the weary look in Paul's eyes before now? Was he really so used to this new Paul already, that this manic insomnia was already the new normal? 

“Well, you’re going to sleep now.” Hugh worked the castanets off his partner’s fingers, with only light protest. Wrapping the strings around the shells, he placed them carefully on the night stand.

Paul shook his head. “I really don’t think I can,” he said softly. “There’s too much going on…” he tapped the side of his head lightly with a fingertip.

Hugh guided him to the bed. “We can try to fix that. Hold on.” He went to the replicator and pressed a few buttons. The machine whirred for a moment, before creating a thick folded blanket on the shelf.

"What are you doing?"

“Doctoring. Computer, lights.”

The room darkened and Hugh pulled the other man on to the bed with him, pulling the blanket over the both of them.

Paul looked at him pointedly. “We already had a blanket.”

“This one is weighted.They help with insomnia.” He ignored the skepticism on Paul's face and pulled him close. Without the castanets to occupy them, Paul's fingers drummed with nervous energy against the blanket.  Hugh put a hand over them. 

"Close your eyes,” he commanded. Paul eyed him for a moment before letting his eyelids flutter closed.

“Breathe.”

Paul sighed. “I’m already doing that.”

The sassy tone in his voice was so much like the old Paul that Hugh's heart skipped a beat, but he pushed past it. 

"In for three seconds through your nose, then out from your mouth." 

He felt Paul's chest expand and fall against his as he obeyed, the other man's exhaled breath tickling his neck. 

"Again," he instructed. 

They continued like that for a while, Paul breathing deeply while Hugh held him close. His free hand found the space between the scientist's shoulder blades and began to rub circles into the tense muscles there. 

After several minutes, Paul's heart began to slow to a steady rhythm against Hugh's chest. The doctor carefully pulled up the edge of the blanket and tucked it in around his shoulders, the heavy weight pressing down securely over them both. 

The problem extended beyond the limits of what a weighted blanket and breathing exercises could fix, but as far as spur of the moment solutions went they weren’t working too badly. He could feel Paul’s body relaxing against his under the warm weight, his energy eroding, and his own began to follow suit.  

“You’re a miracle worker,” Paul murmured, his voice muffled against the doctor's chest and taking on a drowsy edge. "I tried a sedative hours ago. It didn't work." 

“I'm sure your multidimensional DNA had something to do with that. Or the castanets," he added, rolling his eyes.

"Mmmmm. But castanets are sexy."

"They most certainly are not. Especially not at 0200."

Paul lifted his head and grinned, eyebrows raising. "I could show you." He lifted a hand to reach towards the night stand, but Hugh clamped a hand around his wrist. 

"You've shown me enough," he said warningly, lowering Paul's hand back to the blanket. "Right now you can show me 6 hours of uninterrupted sleep."

"Bossy." Paul grinned blearily at him. "You're always looking out for me."

"Well, someone has to."

He felt Paul smile into his chest, and snuggle closer to him. 

* * *

 

Hugh waited until Paul's breaths became deep and even with sleep before he carefully extricated himself from under the blanket. Tiptoeing to the panel on the wall, he sent a message to the Captain relieving Paul from duty for the next 12 hours. He would face the wrath of Lorca (and likely Paul) later.

He began to slip back into the bed, but paused at the sight of the wooden shells laying silently on the bedside table. Making sure the mycologist was sleeping soundly, he surreptitiously swept the castanets off of the surface and buried them deep in the closet.

**Author's Note:**

> So initially this was much more silly, as it was inspired by that silly interaction on After Trek (which if you haven't seen it yet please do, its hilarious and Anthony and Wilson have ridic chemistry). Buttttt the plot bunnies made it a little more real when I started drawing on my own manic insomnia that my own partner has to deal with night after night :P 
> 
> Hope you liked!


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